Countdown to Coronation
by ceallaig1
Summary: The day before Thorin's coronation, and things are going swimmingly ... not. Pure rampant silly - enjoy!


Countdown to Coronation

By ceallaig

"What do you think of this one?" Ori asked his exasperated brother.

"It looks like the one you pulled out ten minutes ago," Dori replied with some heat. "For Mahal's sake, Ori, YOU aren't the one getting crowned tomorrow, Thorin is! I doubt anyone will really be paying attention to what you're wearing!"

"But it's the coronation, I want to look my best."

Dori bit back a retort at the crestfallen look on his brother's face. "I know you do, lad. Tell you what – go with that lilac-gray one, Mother would have liked seeing you in that. She'd be proud of you."

"You think so?" Ori beamed.

"I know so. Lord Ori, companion of the King and official court archivist – who would have thought it?"

"Just throw on any old dress, Ori, you'll look no worse than usual," Nori sneered.

"Keep out of this, Nori! He is a gentledwarf now, and wants the world to know it. Nothing wrong with that. And it's not like you couldn't stand a little brush up on manners, too. Speaking of which, you are to conduct yourself with decorum tomorrow. There will be none of your light fingered shenanigans. No picking of pockets, no cutting of purses, no lifting of silverware during dinner – and yes, I know about that spoon you took at Bilbo's house – no thievery of any kind, do you hear me? There will be a great many important people, and if even one ring goes missing off a hand you've shaken, I will be very displeased."

"What, not even from the Elves?"

"ESPECIALLY not from the Elves! They are our allies now … whether we like it or not. And they might be too hoity-toity to deal with you when they find their jewels missing, but you can rest assured Dain Ironfoot's people won't be so forgiving."

"This whole affair is going to be a barren source of amusement," Nori muttered.

"It's not meant for your amusement, is it? And there are standards to be met. You are Lord Nori now, remember that."

"Too many lords and not enough peasants if you ask me."

"Well, no one's asking you. And whatever happens tomorrow, you may not, under any circumstances …. "

"…bring a date to the coronation!" Thorin thundered.

"But Uncle! " Fili and Kili protested in unison.

"Don't 'But Uncle' me!" Thorin loomed over his nephews, and they both shrank under the fierceness of his gaze. "You will show up on time, you will show up sober, and you will show up ALONE! Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Fili murmured. Kili kept his gaze on the floor.

"Please try to remember you are the heirs of Durin in truth now, and not just in name. You have a responsibility to act like it. What you get up to after the ceremony is your business. What happens during it is mine. Don't embarrass me … or your mother."

Thorin left them to sort out their attire for the next day, and ran into Dis in the hallway. "I am going to kill them, bury them in the mountain, and tell everyone they ran away to stay with the elves."

"I gathered from the shouting that your little talk didn't go well. And yes, I heard – the walls of Erebor are thick but your voice is piercing."

"Since we came here, they've been impossible. Out every night, coming back at all hours, and cutting a swath through the female population – Dwarven, human and Elven too, for all I know. Princes or not, I'm still waiting for an outraged father or brother to show up at the front gate with an ax."

"They survived a great battle and became heroes. They're earned the right to sow some wild oats."

"You could feed most of Middle Earth on what they've sown, if half the stories I've heard are true."

"Thorin, relax! Remember what you were like at that age …. Wait a minute, what am I saying? You were NEVER that age, you were born 150."

Thorin ignored the dig. "You know I love them both, but right now I wouldn't trust them to run a bath, let alone a kingdom. They think I've forgotten about the business with the trolls and the ponies. If anything happened to me, they'd probably lose Erebor to another dragon while they were out taking a dump!"

"Well, you do know the way to prevent that, don't you? Quit stalling and find yourself a queen. Start producing heirs of your own. Every eligible maiden in the seven Houses, and most of the ineligible ones, would be glad to oblige. And I suggest you start as soon as possible – you're not a stripling anymore."

"After the coronation," Thorin said vaguely. "Have all the guests been made comfortable?"

"Lord Elrond and his retinue are in the East wing. That pretty dark-haired one asked me to tell the kitchen they'll need a vegetarian menu. I've sent word to Bombur. Bless him, I don't know what I'd do without him right now. He just came down and took over the preparations. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn are getting settled in. I have to ask who makes her gowns, they are stunning. Did you know she's Elrond's mother in law? I wasn't sure whether to put them in adjoining suites or on opposite wings, but they appear to get along all right. Dain is here, and I swear to Mahal he's brought most of the Iron Hills with him. I'm not sure how we'll feed them all. Bard is arriving this evening; I hear Kili wants to challenge him to an archery contest. Bilbo is out roaming about Dale the last I heard. Bofur and Bifur went with him to keep him out of trouble. And Prince Legolas is due any moment."

Thorin nodded. Thranduil had declined the invitation to the coronation, citing urgent business in his own kingdom that needed his attention. On the surface this was a plausible excuse – Mirkwood still had far to go to recover from the blight. "I'm still not sure whether I should be insulted or relieved that Thranduil sent him as proxy. "

"Considering that the two of you would probably be glaring daggers at each other the entire time, I'm sure his absence will be far more pleasant for the rest of us. What I wonder about is how that elegant, dried up stick of an Elf even managed to produce a son at all, much less a halfway decent one like Legolas. The lad must take after his mother."

"And she must have had very low expectations in matrimony," Thorin opined.

"Most of us do, dear – the average male of any species is a work in progress."

"Even the one you married?"

"He had rather more potential than most," Dis said with a smile. "Hence the reason I married him. It remains to be seen whether his offspring have inherited any of it. Remember what I said about choosing a queen." She kissed her brother's cheek and wafted down the hall.

Thorin watched her go, shaking his head. He had fearlessly faced down orcs, goblins, trolls and wargs in combat, but the idea of entering the marriage market sent a shiver of dread through him. Certainly there had been a fair number of conquests over the years – as Dis had pointed out, he wasn't a stripling – but he had always had the 'still need to get the kingdom back' excuse to save him from any permanent entanglements. It appeared that those halcyon days were over. A peal of laughter erupted from his nephews' quarters, followed by the first verse of a decidedly off-color (and off-key) drinking song. He sighed, wondering if Oin had anything for a headache – willow bark tea, perhaps Bofur's mattock …

The owner of said mattock was currently looking longingly at a leather shop in the Dale market, wondering if they might have a hobbit-sized leash. By Mahal's beard, he would never have thought Bilbo could be so quick, or so easy to lose in a crowd. And more than a bit gullible – Bofur had already stopped him from spending his gold on items of dubious quality and even more dubious provenance. He decided that, when they got back, the halfling would get some tutoring from Nori on making wise purchases. Or at least on not making purchases that would land him in magistrates' court.

"Oooh, a toy shop! I've a few birthdays coming up in the family, let's see what they have," Bilbo exclaimed. Bifur grinned and growled out a stream of ancient Khuzdul.

"He says this is one of the best shops in Dale – the owner apprenticed with him," Bofur translated. "You won't find better wares anywhere in Middle Earth."

The owner, a dwarf of middle years only slightly less stout than Bombur, greeted them with pleasure, bestowing the obligatory head-butt on Bofur, and a more gentle touching of foreheads on his mentor (being very careful of the orc axe). Bilbo received a low bow, which had the hobbit blushing with pleasure, and grateful that the traditional greeting didn't apply to him.

He spent some time wandering the shop, each item pulling expressions of delight from him, and exclaiming over the craftsmanship. Bofur let him explore, smiling at the childlike joy, and decided that there were indeed worse duties than playing nanny to a hobbit. At least he didn't get drunk and start tavern fights, unlike certain dwarven princelings who would remain nameless.

Bifur was conferring with the shop owner over a toy that seemed to be vexing its creator. Bifur was trying to explain by hand gestures how to remedy the problem and having little luck. He found a bit of charcoal and some parchment, sketching quickly and showing it to the other dwarf. The craftsman's eyes lit up. "I would never have thought of that! I'll get on it this afternoon."

Bilbo came over and looked at the sketch. Quick as it had been done, it was amazingly detailed. "Nice work, that. Who knew he had it in him … uh, oh, sorry, can't believe I said that. Stupid hobbit …. " he trailed off.

Bofur laughed. "Don't worry; we've all had that reaction at one time or other. Just because there's an axe there doesn't mean the brain isn't working." Bifur pointed at a stunning doll and said something, and Bofur winced. "But then there are times when it works a bit … oddly." He didn't translate; it was bad enough that he had the mental image of the doll with spiders' legs grafted onto it; there was no need to share it …

"The honor guard is ready?"

"As ready as they're going to be," Dwalin growled. "They're a bit nervous, but they'll do their job – they're all aware of how important tomorrow is. I've told them that anyone who gets out of line will be assigned to the Princes' detail for the next fortnight."

"Oh, that should calm them right down," Thorin said, not bothering to hold the sarcasm in check. "I still don't understand why it was necessary to have representatives from each of the Houses in the guard, considering they told us to sod off when we asked them for help taking Erebor back."

"Because you are King now, and the King has to be above such things as petty differences, past slights, and general pig-headedness," Balin said, adding under his breath, "even when the pig-headedness is his own." If Thorin heard, he had the grace to ignore it.

"Well, if that's the case maybe I should have Elves and Men in it, too," Thorin sneered.

"Well, to be perfectly honest … " Balin said.

"Balin, cousin or not, if you even THINK about finishing that sentence … " Thorin spluttered, then caught the twinkle in the older dwarf's eye. He blew out a breath. "Do you do that just to watch me turn purple?"

"What can I say, it's a good color on you. And I need to have some fun, all this protocol is giving me a headache."

"Try living with it from my end," Thorin muttered.

The door of the chamber slammed open and a young dwarf came barreling in. "A thousand apologies, Your Majesty, but Dwalin's needed in the great hall, NOW!"

"Are we under attack again?" Dwalin asked, reaching for his ax.

"Worse – we've got a diplomatic incident. Prince Legolas and his party came in, and a couple of the Elves were looking around, and one of them used the word 'nice!". Well, a Dwarf overheard, and thought they were saying it was 'gneiss!'. The Elves don't understand what's wrong, the Dwarf isn't backing down, and it's getting ugly."

"Oh, no," Balin moaned. "Dare I ask who the Dwarf was?"

The young Dwarf hung his head. "My father."

"Of course it was Gloin," Thorin sighed. "Gimli, go back down and keep your father from doing any more damage. Balin, Dwalin, sort this out or I'll never hear the end of it from Thranduil. Take Oin with you – he might be able to cool his brother down. If nothing else, bandages are probably going to be needed. I'll be down directly."

The room cleared and Thorin was left alone. He put his head in his hands for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to counteract the throbbing at his temples. Who knew just getting crowned was going to turn into the biggest battle of all? One hand dipped into the collar of his tunic and pulled out a gold chain with a silver key on it. There was always that side door, he could leave a note, there was still time … Immediately on the heels of that comforting thought came a vision of Fili on the throne, with Kili 'advising' him. No, he couldn't do that to his people, not after everything they'd already been through. "Schist," he cursed under his breath as he stood up. Time to Dwarf up and take care of business. That's what a King did, after all.

"Gneiss!": a relatively soft stone used for decorative work. As such, it is used as a minor compliment, or if said with vigor, a backhanded complement/minor insult. To say someone is gneiss is to say they look good or put up an attractive façade, but are of little substance.. – Dannyalcatraz at .


End file.
